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MAIN    STREET,    Wl  LLIAMSTOWN ,    WHERE    IT    PASSES    THROUGH    THE   COLLEGE   GROUNDS 


Frontispiece 


The 
Mountains  About  Williamstown 

By  George  Lansing  Raymond,  L.H.D. 

[Williams] 

With  an  Introduction  by 

Marion  Mills  Miller,  Litt.D.  [Princeton] 


With  55  Illustrations  from  Original  Photographs  Prepared  by  H.  E.  Kinsman, 

C.  M.  Dodd,  and  the  Author 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 

ttbe    f?nicfterbocfter    press 

1913 


COPYRIGHT,   1913 

BY 
GEORGE    LANSING    RAYMOND 


Jift 


tbc  lUnicfccrbocfecr  prose,  UCVP  Uorfe 


But  in  the  east  there  lie  sky-drifting  hills, 

Their  cliffs,  cloud-coursed  in  heights  of  mystery, 
Dim,  dreamy  glens,  and  flashed  surprise  of  rills, 

Had  trained  in  youth  his  faith  and  fantasy. 
He  loved  them  as  a  child  may  love  his  mother, 

A  simple  child  who  cannot  tell  you  why, 
Yet  something  feels  he  feels  not  for  another, 

Too  near  the  springs  of  life  for  question  or  reply. 

A  Life  in  Song,  7,  72;  by  the  Author. 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION    . 

GREYLOCK 

BERLIN  MOUNTAIN 

WEST  MOUNTAIN 

FORD'S  GLEN 

A  WOODLAND  REVERIE 

AMID  THE  MOUNTAINS 


PAGE 
I 


43 

58 

80 
82 
96 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

MAIN  STREET,  WILLIAMSTOWN,  \VHKRK  IT  PASSES  THROUGH  THE  COLLEGE 
GROUNDS      .........     Frontispiece 

THOMPSON  CHAPEL,  EXTERIOR     ........         5 

THOMPSON  CHAPEL,  INTERIOR      ........         7 

WILLIAMS  AND  GRACE  HALLS      .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .11 

INTERIOR  OF  GRACE  HALL  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .13 

BERKSHIRE,  CURRIER,  AND  FAIRWEATHER  HALLS          .         .         .  17 

GREYLOCK,  FROM  HEARTWELLVILLK,  VERMONT,  AT  THE  NORTHEAST       .       33 

THE  NOTCH  BETWEEN  WILLIAMS  AND  PROSPECT   ON   GREYLOCK   MOUN 
TAIN  RANGE          ..........       35 

EASTERLY  VIEW  ACROSS  A  SHOULDER  OF  GREYLOCK     .         .         .         -37 
WESTERN  ENTRANCE  TO  GREYLOCK'S  HOPPER       .....       39 


Illustrations 

PAfiE 

PROSPECT,  GREVLOCK,  AND  BALD  MOUNTAINS,  WITH  THE  HOPPER          .  41 

BERLIN  MOUNTAIN,  WITH  WEST  MOUNTAIN  RANGE  TO  THE  RK;HT        .  45 

HOOSAC  AND  GKKYLOCK  RANGES  FROM  BEE  HILL         ....  47 

ENTRANCE  TO  FLORA'S  GLEN 49 

ROADWAY  THROUGH  TORREY'S  WOODS  5I 

GYMNASIUM,  MORGAN  HALL,  AND  LABORATORIES,  WITH   BERLIN    ABOVE  53 

DODD'S  CONE,  WITH  BERLIN  JUST  BEYOND  THE  LEFT  .                            .  55 

WEST  MOUNTAIN  RANGE  SEEN  ACROSS  HOOSICK  RIVER                           .  59 

THE  HOPPER  FROM  THE  WEST    ...  f>i 

THE    DOME,  EAST    MOUNTAIN,  AND   WILLIAMSTOWN,  FROM  STONE  HILL  63 

A  CLASS-DAY  SPEECH  BETWEEN  EAST  COLLEGE  AND  THE  LIBRARY        .  65 
MAIN  STREET,  WILLIAMSTOWN,  LOOKING  WEST    ...                   .69 

FOOTHILLS  OF  WEST  MOUNTAIN  FROM  THE  SIDE  OF  IT  71 

THE  INNER  HOPPER   .          .                                     .  -^ 

THE  GREYLOCK  RANCH  FROM  BERKSHIRE  ROCK  .                   .         .  77 


Illustrations  ix 

PAGE 

COMMENCEMENT  PROCESSION  OF  THE  GRADUATING  CLASS      ...  79 

FORD'S  GLEN  .                      81 

THE  HOPPER  BROOK  AND  PATHWAY 83 

A  BROOK,  WITH  THE  DOME  IN  THE  DISTANCE      .....  87 

MISSION  PARK  MONUMENT          ........  89 

A  WALK  IN  A  WILLIAMSTOWN  PARK    .......  95 

THE  GREYLOCK  RANGE  FROM  BELLOW'S  PIPE      .....  97 

GREYLOCK,  FROM  A  SHOULDER  OF  THE  DOME       .....  99 


The  Mountains  About  Williamstown 


INTRODUCTION 

"Good  wine  needs  no  bush" — for  those  who  are  connoisseurs  of  wine. 
Good  poetry  similarly  requires  no  introduction — for  those  who  have  a 
discriminating  literary  palate.  Perhaps  in  ancient  Greece,  where  poetic 
taste  was  natural  and  well-nigh  universal,  and  where  the  "wine  of  song" 
in  generous  flood  was  welcomed  because  it  gratified  the  artistic  sense  of 
people  of  every  degree,  presentation  of  the  claims  of  a  particular  vintage 
may  have  been  unneeded  and  unknown.  But  where  this  natural  taste  has 
been  vitiated,  whether  by  poetic  counterfeiters  flooding  the  market  with 
their  debased  issue,  and  so  driving  out  the  genuine,  or  by  the  people  them 
selves  after  indulging  in  the  raw  and  ardent  spirits  of  romantic  fiction  and 
passionate  drama,  there  has  always  been  need  of  instructing  readers  in  the 


2  The  Mountains  About  "Williamstown 

basic  principles  of  the  poetic  art  preparatory  to  presenting  them  poems 
which,  however  unpretentious,  are  intended  to  appeal  to  the  true  artistic 
sense.  So  Wordsworth  prefaced  his  products,  and,  following  his  example, 
the  disciples  of  Wordsworth  in  introduction  and  comment  urged  the  claims 
of  these  as  true  specimens  of  poetry  upon  a  public  accustomed  to  connote 
the  idea  of  a  "grand  style"  with  any  composition  in  rhythmic  form. 

The  present  age,  notwithstanding  an  abundant,  and,  to  a  large  extent, 
critical  appreciation  of  most  forms  of  art,  is  notable  for  its  lack  of  interest 
in  verse,  and,  with  this,  of  discrimination  in  judging  of  its  relative  value. 
For  this  reason,  no  greater  service  can  be  rendered  to  the  reader  of  literature 
than  by  presenting  to  him  a  work  of  genuine  poetry,  accompanied  by  the 
reasons  which  seem  to  make  it  this. 

To  say  no  more,  such  presentation  may  be  the  means  of  revealing — to 
eyes  prone  to  overlook  wrhat  they  ought  to  see — the  element  of  pure  beauty, 
and  of  making  men  apprehend  the  supreme  position  that  this  occupies  in 
literary  as  in  other  forms  of  art.  Beauty  is  universally  recognized  as  the 
main  constituent  of  poetry.  But  after  this  has  been  acknowledged,  many 
in  our  day  seem  to  think  it  unnecessary  to  know  from  personal  experience 
what  is  meant  either  by  poetic  beauty,  or  by  enjoying  it.  "  We  agree  to 
all  your  claims  for  poetry,"  they  seem  to  say;  "What  more  can  you  ask 


Introduction  3 

of  us?— pray,  would  you  have  us  read  it?"  Professor  Raymond's  poems, 
we  believe,  will  tend  to  multiply  readers— and  discriminating  ones— of 
poetry  in  general,  starting  them,  indeed,  on  the  right  road  to  the  shrine  of 
beauty,  their  devotion  increasing  with  every  step  on  the  way. 

In  choice  of  subject,  these  mountain  poems  are  admirably  adapted 
for  this  purpose.  Appreciation  of  the  beauty  of  nature,  especially  in  its 
larger  and  more  striking  aspects,  appealing  in  unmistakable  terms,  as 
these  do,  to  human  emotion  and  sentiment,  is  almost  universal.  There 
are  those,  indeed,  who  traffic  upon  this  appreciation.  Hundreds  of  inn 
keepers  in  Europe  receive  annually  from  tourists — and  these  largely  from 
America — many  thousands  of  dollars  because  of  the  scenic  attractions 
of  their  localities.  The  popularity  of  these,  moreover,  is  always  greatly 
enhanced  when,  in  some  way,  they  can  be  associated  with  the  personalities 
of  favorite  authors  who  have  dwelt  among  them  and  written  of  thcm,^ 
written  what,  perhaps,  is  destined  to  be  immortal  largely  because  of  some 
subtle  influence  exerted  upon  their  minds  by  the  ever-enduring  beauty  and 
grandeur  of  the  aspects  of  nature  in  a  place  which  was  once  their  home. 

Even  utilitarians  who  think  only  of  these  facts  may  be  guided  along 
the  right  path.  There  is  no  one  for  whom  it  is  impossible  to  open  up  the 
well-nigh  infinite  vistas  of  ideality  which  lie  behind  and  beyond  and  within 


4  THe  Mountains  About  "Williamstown 

the  actualities  of  life.  The  contents  of  this  volume,  therefore,  seem  to 
appeal  to  every  kind  of  reader,  and  to  do  so  in  the  ancient  universally 
cherished  name  of  the  Muses  of  which  the  author  has  been  a  faithful  devotee 
ever  since,  as  a  college  student,  he  became  familiar  with  the  scenes  about 
Williamstown  fitted  for  their  haunting.  Especially  should  the  poems  appeal 
to  those  who  now  live  amid  the  Berkshire  hills,  in  the  list  of  whom  are  many 
young  people  whose  whole  careers  might  be  changed  for  the  better,  could 
they  but  be  guided  to  receive,  assimilate,  and  develop  the  suggestions  logi 
cally  derivable  from  their  surroundings. 

As  a  pupil  of  Professor  Raymond,  and  an  assistant  professor  in 
his  department  of  Esthetic  Criticism  at  Princeton — not  to  mention 
more  recent  associations  with  him — I  have  had  exceptional  opportunities 
to  become  acquainted  with  his  poetic  theories  and  methods,  and,  accord 
ingly,  it  is  I  who  have  been  asked  to  write  the  present  introduction. 

As  is  known  to  many,  Professor  Raymond  was  for  years  an  instructor 
in  elocution,  rhetoric,  and  a-sthetics.  His  fundamental  analysis  of  each  of 
these  subjects  led  him  to  treat,  first,  of  the  significance — i.  c.  of  the  thought 
and  emotion — to  be  expressed;  and,  second,  of  the  style  or  form  of  the 
expression.  Both  these,  as  related  merely  to  art,  he  considers  of  equal 
importance,  and,  accordingly,  insists  that  neither  should  be  subordinated 


THOMPSON  CHAPEL,  EXTERIOR 


6  THe   Mountains  About  "Williamsto-wn 

to  the  other.  He  maintains,  for  instance,  that  the  object  of  making  a 
study  of  form,  and  of  thus  becoming  a  master  of  technique,  is  to  remove 
habits  preventing  a  spontaneous  and  natural  method  of  communicat 
ing  outwardly  what  is  within  the  mind,  and,  in  place  of  these,  to 
cultivate  habits  facilitating  this  method.  This,  according  to  him,  furnishes 
the  reason  for  practicing  the  voice  in  music  and  the  hand  in  painting, 
as  well  as  the  perceptive,  recollectivc,  and  illustrative  powers  in  these  and 
the  other  arts. 

There  is  nothing  in  statements  of  this  kind  to  differentiate  them  from 
such  as  would  be  made  by  almost  any  one  else.  I  have  directed  attention 
to  them  here  because  of  certain  practical  applications  of  them  to  poetry 
which  seem  to  be  peculiar  to  Professor  Raymond.  The  reader  may  be  best 
led  perhaps  to  apprehend  what  these  applications  are  by  observing,  in  the 
following  poetic  passage,  the  departures  from  the  natural  order  of  words 
as  used  in  English  speech : 

Then  us  they  lifted  up,  dead  weights,  and  bare 
Straight  to  the  doors;  to  them  the  doors  gave  way 
Groaning;  and  in  the  vestal  entry  shrieked 
The  virgin  marble  under  iron  heels. — Tennyson's  Princess. 


THOMPSON   CHAPEL,    INTERIOR 


8  The  Mountains  About  Williamstown 

There  arc  two  main  reasons  for  such  departures:  first,  the  difficulty, 
without  them,  of  causing  the  lines  to  produce  the  required  metrical  effects; 
and,  second,  the  desirability  of  arranging  the  words  in  such  a  way  as  to 
emphasize,  by  putting  into  unusual  places,  those  words  that  have  excep 
tional  interpretive  or  artistic  value,  as  in  the  cases  of  us,  groaning,  and 
shrieked,  in  the  quotation. 

The  first  reason  Professor  Raymond  would  not  deem  sufficient.  He 
would  consider  it  an  attempt  to  excuse  workmanship  so  lacking  in  thorough 
ness  as  to  stop  short  of  producing  the  naturalness  of  effect  which,  according 
to  him,  always  characterizes  perfect  art.  The  second  reason,  he  would  ad 
mit,  is  founded  on  a  sound  avsthctic  principle,  but  he  would  consider  it  also 
inadequate,  since  when  words  containing  the  important  thoughts  fall  into 
emphasized  places  in  the  customary  order  of  the  sentence  the  effect  is 
much  more  what  it  should  be  than  when,  in  order  to  put  the  strong 
words  in  the  strong  places,  inversion  is  used.  Take  the  invocation  of 
the  Psalmist : 

Lift  up  your  heads,  O  ye  gates; 

And  be  yc  lift  up,  ye  everlasting  doors; 

And  the  King  of  glory  shall  come  in. 


Introduction  9 

This  is  both  more  artistic  and  more  poetic  than  would  be  the  inversion : 

Your  heads,  O  yc  gates,  lift  up; 

And  lifted  up  be  ye,  ye  doors  everlasting; 

And  in  shall  come  the  One  of  glory  King. 

Professor  Raymond  would  justify  his  criticism  of  such  changes  in 
the  natural  order  of  speech,  so  far  as  made  merely  for  the  purpose  of  over 
coming  the  difficulty  of  metrical  construction,  by  showing  that  many 
a  reader,  and  even  critic,  after  becoming  accustomed  to  them,  comes  to 
consider  them,  in  themselves  alone,  indicative  of  the  presence  of  poetry, 
and  not  infrequently  to  consider  the  absence  of  them  indicative  of  the 
opposite.  According  to  him,  this  involves  subordinating  significance  in 
poetry  to  the  effects  of  mere  style. 

As  for  the  second  reason  for  these  changes,  Professor  Raymond,  though 
justifying  them  sometimes,  would  say  that,  at  other  times,  even  when 
directing  attention  to  words  having  special  significance,  they  may  be 
inartistic  because  of  their  tendency  to  emphasize  the  particular  details  of 
expression  in  such  a  way  as  to  cause  the  reader  to  lose  thought  of  the  general 
drift  of  expression,  the  latter  of  which  is  that  which  chiefly  conveys  the 
full  meaning  of  a  passage.  Here,  again,  according  to  his  conception,  more 


lo  THe  Mountains  7\bo\at  W^lliamstown 

importance  would  be  given  to  the  requirements  of  poetic  style  than  to  those 
of  significance. 

Professor  Raymond  is  well  aware  that  any  verse  in  which  theories 
like  his  arc  put  into  practice  will,  very  likely,  not  commend  itself  to  those 
who  fail  to  recognize  poetry  where  there  are  no  inversions  or  intricacies  in 
the  arrangement  of  words,  or  where  the  general  drift  of  the  thought  is  not 
being  constantly  checked  in  order  to  allow  opportunity  for  the  introduction 
of  special  details.  He  is  aware  that  such  people  are  wont  to  confound  that 
ease  and  simplicity  of  effect  which  characterize  finished  art  with  the  fatal 
facility  that  triumphs  merely  because  it  has  not  ventured  where  obstacles 
are  to  be  met,  and  where  skill  must  be  used  in  order  to  overcome  them.  But 
he  is  not  a  man  who  would  waive  an  artistic  ideal  for  no  other  purpose  than 
to  find  welcome  with  those  who,  for  any  reason,  do  not  happen  to  share  it. 

After  what  has  been  said,  the  reader  may  be  interested  in  noticing 
in  a  quotation  from  the  present  volume  the  straightforward  arrangement 
of  the  words,  the  dominance  of  the  main  idea,  and  the  absence  of  any 
tricks  of  mere  rhetoric  to  which  the  effects  could  be  attributed : 

The  aspiration  and  the  aim  of  art 
That  will  not  bide  contented  till  the  law 


WILLIAMS   AND   GRACE    HALLS 


12  XHe   Mountains  .A.i>cmt  Williamstown 

Of  thought  shall  supersede  the  law  of  things, 

And  that  which  in  the  midnight  of  this  world 

Is  but  a  dream  shall  be  fulfilled  in  days 

Where  there  is  no  more  matter,  only  mind, 

And  beauty,  born  of  free  imagination, 

Shall  wait  but  on  the  sovereignty  of  spirit. — p.  6:1. 

The  production  of  passages  like  this  by  a  professor  of  rhetoric  is  all 
the  more  noteworthy  inasmuch  as  one  would  naturally  suppose  that  he, 
as  a  student  of  style,  would  be  the  first,  rather  than  the  last,  to  be  unduly 
influenced  by  its  requirements. 

We  have  pointed  out  that,  according  to  Professor  Raymond,  the 
details  of  expression  should  not  predominate  over  the  drift  of  expression. 
Let  us  look  a  little  more  deeply  into  this  principle.  We  shall  find  that 
the  conception  indicated  in  the  term  "drift  of  expression,"  while  it  refers 
to  the  general  thought,  may  refer — and  at  times  necessarily  must  do  so — 
to  more  than  this.  It  must  refer  to  the  tendency,  or  what  is  sometimes 
termed  the  spirit  of  the  thought.  It  is  not  only  the  general  meaning,  but 
the  general  spirit  underlying  the  meaning,  which  should  receive  expression 
in  the  form.  How  this  can  be  done  may  be  illustrated,  like  other  of  Pro- 


INTERIOR    OF   GRACE    HALL 


14  THe  Mountains  About   Williamstown 

fessor  Raymond's  theories,  from  his  own  writings.  Years  ago,  before  he 
had  published  anything  in  dramatic  form,  like  his  "Columbus"  or  "Dante," 
the  New  York  Evening  Post,  then  edited  by  William  Cullen  Bryant,  termed 
one  of  his  volumes  the  work  "of  a  genuinely  dramatic  poet."  A  careful 
reader  of  that  volume  will  recognize  what  was  meant  by  this  comment. 
The  volume  contained  two  poems, — "Haydn"  and  "Ideals  Made  Real." 
Both  were  love  stories;  the  one  was  supposed  to  be  told  by  a  dying  nun, 
and  the  other  by  a  young  man  very  much  alive.  From  beginning  to  end, 
the  style  of  each  poem  revealed  the  character  of  its  supposed  narrator. 
Nevertheless  each  poem  revealed  also  the  characters  of  half  a  dozen  other 
persons  whose  words  and  deeds  were  reported.  Like  leaves  and  flowers 
all  of  which,  though  rendered  clearly  distinguishable  by  their  outlines, 
appear  blue  or  red  when  seen  through  a  blue  or  red  glass,  so  these 
characters,  though  they  were  clearly  differentiated  from  one  another, 
all  revealed  the  characteristics  of  the  one  supposed  to  be  describing  them. 
This  is  the  same  as  to  affirm  that  Professor  Raymond  had  put  himself  into 
the  place  of  the  supposed  narrators.  He  had  been  able,  as  one  may  say, 
to  take  on  their  spirit  in  such  a  way  that,  from  beginning  to  end,  all  the 
details  of  style  were  made  to  manifest  this  fact. 

A  similar  effect  may  be  noticed  in   his  patriotic  ballads  and  senti- 


Introduction  15 

mental  lyrics.  While,  in  a  sense  they  represent  himself,  in  another  sense 
they  represent  also  the  spirit  of  some  prejudiced  rustic  or  love-sick  suitor, 
to  whom,  supposedly,  they  are  attributable. 

The  same  dramatic  quality  is  evident  in  the  poems  in  this  volume. 
The  writer  seems  to  possess,  or,  better,  to  be  possessed  by  the  spirit  which— 
so  far  as  results  in  material  nature  may  be  interpreted  according  to  the 
analogy  of  results  in  human  nature — is  behind  the  natural  phenomena  to 
which  he  refers,  e.  g. : 

And  only  barren  slopes  of  sterile  rock 
And  trees  that  nature  struggles  to  disown 
Await  the  climber. — p.  69 

The  emulous  mounts 
That  rise,  as  if  from  crowds  that  would  be  counted. — p.  36. 

And  pushing  up  through  paths  I  trod  were  flowers. 

I  seemed  their  nature's  lord;  for,  when  my  feet 

Would  crush  them  as  I  passed,  they  grew  more  sweet. — p.  84. 

[When  passing  through  a  forest]   Without  a  word, 
We  walked  at  first  like  pilgrims  near  a  shrine 
They  much  revere,  who,  filled  with  thrills  too  fine 


\f>  TKe  Mountains  .A.k>ovit  "Williamstown 

To  throb  through  words  accented,  satisfy 

Their  souls  by  feeling  that  the  god  is  nigh. — pp.  88,  89. 

Professor  Raymond  is  able  also  to  represent  the  effects  of  nature 
upon  the  spirit  of  man  as  manifested  in  the  thoughts  and  feelings  which 
association  with  nature  evokes.  Who  that  has  roamed  much  among 
high  mountains  has  not  experienced — but  how  few  have  been  able  to 
translate  into  language — the  feelings  expressed  in  a  passage  like  this? — 

And  why  should  one  descend?     Why  cannot  now 
This  whirling  world  whisk  off  the  willing  spirit 
And  let  it  shoot  through  space,  and  go  and  go, 
And  never  come  again?     Ah,  why  should  fate 
Leave  thought  entangled  like  an  eagle  here 
Whose  wings  are  bound,  and  feet  can  only  crawl 
So  slowly,  and,  when  one  so  longs  to  fly, 
So  painfully? — pp.  52,  54. 

It  is  a  step — and  yet  a  long  step— in  the  same  direction  as  that  indi 
cated  in  these  lines  to  the  recognition  of  a  single  source  or  spirit  in  nature 
to  which  may  be  attributed  not  only  inspiration  in  general,  as  in  this  last 


BERKSHIRE,    CURRIER,    AND    FAIRWEATHER    HALLS,    AND    EAST  COLLEGE 


i8  The  Mountains  A.bo\it  "Williamsto-wn 

quotation,  but  also  particular  suggestions,  as  in  the  quotations  preceding 
the  last.  Notice,  in  the  following,  not  merely  the  recognition  of  this  single 
spirit;  but  an  effect  far  more  difficult  to  produce, — the  expression  of  this 
recognition  in  language  fitted  to  cause  others  to  recognize  it: 

Life's  greatest  gain  is  life  itself; 
And  life,  though  lived  in  matter,  is  not  of  it; 
Not  of  the  object  that  our  aims  pursue, 
Not  of  the  body  that  pursues  it,  not 
Of  all  the  world  of  which  itself  and  us 
Are  parts.     Nay,  all  things  that  the  eye  can  see 
Are  but  vague  shadows  of  reality 
Cast  on  a  frail  environment  of  cloud, — 
But  illustrations  of  a  general  trend 
Which  only  has  enduring  entity, 
And  is,  and  was,  and  always  must  be,  spirit. — pp.  56,  57. 

Believe  me  that  the  spirit-air, 
Like  all  the  air  above  the  soil  we  tread, 
Takes  to  its  own  environment  of  light 
No  growth  to  burst  there  into  flower  and  fruit 


Introduction  19 

That  does  not  get  some  start,  and  root  itself, 

Amid  this  lower  world's  deep,  alien  darkness, — 

No  spirit  uses  wings  in  heaven  that  never 

Has  learned  of  them,  or  longed  for  them,  on  earth. — p.  57. 

For  nature  is 

Transparent,  and  reveals  her  mysteries 
To  mortals  only  whose  own  sympathies 
Make  them  transparent,  opening  all  between 
Themselves  and  nature,  so  that  naught  can  screen 
Her  inmost  meaning  from  their  inmost  mind. 
Such  spirits  in  earth's  round  horizon  find 
A  glass  divine — like  that  called  Claude  Lorraine's — 
A  strange  strong  lens  that  deep  within  contains 
Heaven's  forms  for  thought  made  small  in  scope  to  match 
Man's  comprehension. — pp.  89,  90. 

For  one  to  be  able  to  perceive  the  spirit,  in  the  sense  of  the  vitalizing 
method  or  methods,  operating  in  nature,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  recognize 
and  represent  the  many  different  forms  through  which  this  spirit  may 
manifest  its  presence  and  character,  there  is  needed  an  unusual  exercise  of 


2O 


The   Mountains  .About  AVilliamstown 


two  important  tendencies  of  mind,  clearly  distinguishable  yet  closely 
connected.  These  are  the  philosophic  and  the  imaginative.  The  first 
of  them  has  to  do  with  laws  working  underneath  visible  or  audible  life; 
the  second  with  things  seen  or  heard  that  give  outward  manifestation  of 
the  application  of  these  laws.  The  test  of  the  philosophic  mind  is  its 
ability  to  relate  the  phenomena  of  nature  to  some  one  law  or  set  of  laws; 
the  test  of  the  imaginative  mind  is  its  ability  to  conjure  from  nature  forms 
that  image  one  another  in  the  sense  that  they  indicate  the  presence  and 
influence  upon  themselves  of  the  same  law  or  laws.  Both  qualities  of 
mind  are  exemplified,  over  and  over  again,  in  these  mountain  poems; 
sometimes  explicitly  as  in  the  following: 


In  every  sphere,  beyond  what  merely  meets 

The  first  demand  of  need,  there  issues  forth 

A  constant  overflow.     'T  is  this  that  brings 

More  sunlight  than  the  eye  of  toil  exhausts, 

More  summer  rain  than  clears  and  cools  the  air 

Where  smoke  and  flame  the  world's  too  heated  axles. 

Without  this  overflow,  no  wish  could  play, 

No  thought  could  dream,  no  fancy  slip  the  links 


Introduction  21 

Of  logic,  and  wing  off  with  childlike  faith 

And  poise  o'er  mysteries  too  deep  for  sight. 

Without  it,  not  one  poet  would  repeat 

His  empty  echoes  of  life's  humdrum  work, 

His  rhythmic  laughter  of  disburdened  thought. 

Without  it,  not  one  artist  would  essay 

To  mimic  Nature  when  it  molds  to  gems 

Its  melting  worthlessncss,  or,  like  a  wizard, 

Waves  with  its  wand  to  welcome  bubbling  froth 

And  turn  to  amber  that  which  aimed  for  air. — pp.  44,  46. 

Meantime,  confined 

Where  only  finite  form  can  hint  of  what 
Inspires  formation,  many  souls  there  arc — 
Oh,  may  I  join  them! — who,  in  all  things  earthly, 
Behold  what  evermore  transfigures  earth. 
No  scene  can  greet  them  but  it  brings  to  sight 
Far  less  than  to  suggestion ;  not  a  tone 
Whose  harmony  springs  not  from  overtones; 
And  not  a  partial  stir  but,  like  a  pulse, 
It  registers  what  heart-beat  moves  the  whole. — p.  48. 


22  TKe  Mountains  A.bcmt  Williamstown 

And  sometimes  implicitly  as,  in  these : 

Docs  thought  grow  broader,  whittled  down  to  point 

At  microscopic  nuclei  of  dust, 

As  if  the  world  were  by,  not  with  them,  built? — 

As  if  the  game  of  true  success  were  played 

By  matching  parts  whose  wholes  are  curios? — p.  56. 

Whose  mind  too  slightly  taught,  as  yet,  perhaps, 
To  read,  beneath  the  picture,  all  the  text, 
Has  yet  surmised  its  meaning  by  that  faith 
Which,  though  its  guide  be  instinct,  dares  to  think, 
And,  though  it  bow  to  greet  the  symbol,  yet 
Lets  not  its  magic  cast  a  spell  on  sense! — p.  78. 

On  almost  every  page  of  Professor  Raymond's  poetry,  a  thinker  will 
find  single  words  and  phrases  that,  like  hand  mirrors  held  to  mountain 
ranges,  reveal  with  the  utmost  clearness  what  could  have  its  source  in 
nothing  except  a  wide  philosophic  and  imaginative  outlook,  e.  g. : 

As  long  as  thinking  can  be  shaped  by  things, 

And  that  which  holds  our  life  can  mold  our  love. — pp.  38,  40. 


Introduction.  23 

That  every  bud  must  bring  a  blossom-nest 

In  which  to  hatch  and  home  a  future  fruit. — p.  43. 

But  each  frail  flower  that  blooms  for  but  an  hour 

May  store  in  memory  an  ideal  of  beauty, 

A  sense  of  sweetness,  that  shall  never  leave  him. — p.  74. 

Some  minds  are  sighted  for  a  single  aim, 

And  right  for  others  may  be  wrong  for  them ! — p.  70. 

All  things  created  can  for  thought  procure 

No  more  than  one's  creative  thoughts  conjure. — p.  89. 

There  are  two  extremes  of  representation  at  which  the  results  of  the 
two  tendencies  of  mind  of  which  I  have  spoken  are  combined ;  and  at  both 
of  them  Professor  Raymond's  success  is  noteworthy.  At  one  extreme, 
the  conception  of  the  laws,  principles,  or  general  ideas  involved,  or  the 
personified  source  of  them,  is  so  great  that  the  imagination  cannot  find 
a  form  actually  existing  by  imitating  or  referring  to  which  the  mind  can 
represent  them  adequately, — in  fact  cannot  represent  them  at  all,  except 
by  way  of  suggestion,  e.  g. : 


24  THe  Mountains  About  "Williamstown 

One  might  believe,  O  Mount,  as  on  thy  sides 
The  thumb-marks  of  the  Hopper  show  themselves, 
That  thou  wast  made  a  handle,  humpt  and  huge, 
Which  some  magician  of  the  sky  could  wield 
While  in  the  hollow  basin  at  thy  base 
All  things  were  lifted  to  a  loftier  life! — pp.  40. 


They  must  have  sprung 

To  shape  like  this  when  some  primeval  frost 
Chilled,  caught,  and  crystallized  the  storm-swept  waves 
Of  chaos  that,  arrested  in  their  rage, 
They  fitly  might  portray  the  power  beneath. 
Stay  there,  great  billows,  all  your  boulder-drops 
Held  harmless  where  they  hang;  and  all  the  spray 
That  might  have  dashed  above  them  merely  leaves 
Of  bush  and  forest,  held  to  equal  pause 
Save  where,  perchance,  their  fluttering,  now  and  then, 
Reveals  a  feeling  that  they  once  were  free; 
Stay  there,  suspended  in  the  sky!     But,  sure 
As  days  roll  up  the  sun,  an  hour  must  come 
When  blazing  blasts  again  shall  shake  these  peaks, 


Introduction  25 

Shall  pile  them  higher,  level  them  to  plains, 

Or  melt  them  back  to  primal  nothingness. — pp.  58,  60. 

And  when  these  mounts,  like  mighty  sheets  above 

Some  slumbering  giant  soon  to  wake  and  walk, 

Fall  back  to  formlessness  from  which  they  came. — p.  76. 

This  is  the  method  which,  in  the  degree  in  which  it  is  applied  to  con 
ceptions  of  profound  importance,  gives  rise  to  the  effects  that  are  termed 
sublime.  At  the  other  extreme,  the  conception  of  the  laws  or  principles 
involved  is  not  too  great  to  be  adequately  represented.  In  such  a  case, 
when  the  writer  is  thinking  primarily  of  the  conception,  he  gives  us  descrip 
tion  or  reference  that  is  idealistic;  when  he  is  thinking  primarily  of  the 
form,  he  gives  us  that  which  is  realistic.  Professor  Raymond's  poems 
afford  examples  of  both  types.  These,  for  instance,  are  idealistic: 

Where  every  prospect  homes  itself  on  high, 

And  each  horizon  seems  a  haunt  of  heaven? — p.  40. 

Our  shouts  would  join  them,  now,  perchance,  intent 
To  rouse  loud  echoes  dealt  us  like  applause 
For  ungrown  voices  that  would  fit  themselves 


26  THe  Mountains  About  "Williamstown 

To  bear  the  burden  of  the  larger  thought 

For  which  the  world  beyond  our  youth  seemed  waiting. — p.  64. 

When  dwelling  in  a  realm  of  endless  plains, 
Those  whom  thy  shade  had  haunted  pointed  out 
The  clouds,  and  bade  me  find  thine  image  there, — 
With  what  delight  my  heart  first  welcomed  thee! 
And  then,  like  one  whose  form  lies  prone  in  sleep, 
My  young  imagination  woke  and  rose 
And  strove  to  climb,  and — heaven  alone  can  tell 
How  wisely — has  been  climbing  ever  since. — p.3i. 

I  climbed  these  fields 

From  foot-hills  to  the  Snow-hole;  then,  reclined 
Against  the  western  slope,  looked  off  to  give 
A  god-speed  to  the  sun,  and  half  believed 
The  blue-tint  sky-sheet,  held  to  light  against 
The  little  town  of  learning  that  I  loved, 
Could  bear  away  with  photographic  art 
That  which  should  give  enlightenment  to  all 
The  western  land  through  which  it  should  be  trailed. — p.  62. 


Introduction  27 

And  these  are  realistic: 

Those  overshadowing  forests  which  emboss 
That  glorious  bowl,  the  Hopper! — p.  34. 

Think  not  that  every  leaf  that  sprouts  in  spring 

Must  be  a  stem  straight-pointed  toward  a  flower. — p.  43. 

I  strolled,  at  midnight,  through  the  shade-veiled  elms, 
Across  the  western  rise,  and  down  the  hill. 
What  mattered  how  complained  the  creaking  bridge, 
Or  bustling  brook,  disturbed  by  moon  and  me; 
How  marshalled  into  rows  the  ghost-like  forms, 
White-mantled  in  the  hill-side  cemetery? — p.  69. 

It  is  quite  common  with  Professor  Raymond  to  begin  a  passage  accord 
ing  to  the  realistic  method,  and  to  end  it  according  to  the  idealistic,  his 
imagination  starting  with  feet  on  the  ground,  as  it  were,  and  then  taking 
wing,  e.  g. : 

The  works  of  human  art  may  lose  their  charm. 
The  picture,  statue,  building,  wear  no  mail 
That  can  resist  the  subtle  shafts  of  time. 


28  THe  Mountains  About  "Williamstown 

Their  brightest  color  fades,  their  bronze  corrodes, 

Their  carving  crumbles,  and  their  marble  falls. 

Oft,  too,  when  one  has  wandered  far  from  home, 

And  craves  the  things  he  once  thought  wrought  so  well, 

The  soul's  enlargement  of  the  treasures  missed 

That  each  may  fit  a  niche  of  larger  longing 

Will  make  all  seem,  when  seen  again,  but  small, 

And,  tested  by  the  touch  of  present  fact, 

But  fabrics  of  a  dream  conjured  by  fancy. 

Not  so  with  works  of  Nature.     Years  that  pass 

May  make  the  field  more  brilliant  with  more  flowers, 

The  ore  more  precious,  and  the  cave  more  vast, 

And  every  mount,  at  our  renewed  return, 

Soar  higher  like  thick  smoke  above  a  flame 

Fanned  into  ardor  by  the  panting  breath 

Of  fleet-sped  winds  that  rush  to  its  embrace. — pp.  32,  34. 

A  similar  order  of  presentation — passing  from  the  realistic  to  the  ideal 
istic — often  characterizes  his  descriptions  of  things  seen: 

Anon  a  brook  before  my  vision  spread. 

It  seemed  a  path  that  fairy  feet  could  tread, — 


Introduction  29 

A  path  of  silver,  o'er  a  jewelled  ground, 
Which  far  away  toward  heaven-like  mountains  wound. 
White  mists  were  clinging  to  the  brook's  bright  side. 
Like  spirit  bands  I  thought  them,  whom  its  tide 
Lulled  softly,  couched  amid  the  dark -leaved  trees, 
Awaiting  bugles  of  the  morning  breeze, 
And  all  the  rush  of  daybreak  sweeping  by, 
To  bear  them  off  in  glory  to  the  sky. — p.  85. 

And  also  of  things  heard.  Besides  this  fact,  notice,  in  the  following, 
the  distinctively  musical  effects;  by  which  arc  meant  the  effects  both  of 
sound,  and  of  that  of  which  the  sound  makes  one  think: 

At  times,  mysterious  whurs  of  winds  and  wings 
And  whisperings  rose,  with  long-drawn  echoings. 
'T  was  music,  lingering  lovingly  along 
The  breeze  its  fragrance  freighted,  like  a  song 
From  bay-bound  barks  in  hazy  autumn  calms; 
Nor  less  it  swayed  my  soul  than  slow  low  psalms 
Begun  where  organ  blasts,  that  roared  and  rushed 
And  made  the  air-waves  roll,  are  swiftly  hushed, 


30  THe  Mountains  About  AVilliamstown 

And  our  thrilled  breasts  inhale  as  well  as  hear 

The  awe-filled  sweetness  of  the  atmosphere. — pp.  85,  86. 

Thomas  Noon  Talfourd,  in  his  celebrated  essay  "On  the  Genius  and 
Writings  of  Wordsworth,"  says  of  the  poetic  imagination  that  it  is  "that 
power  by  which  the  spiritualities  of  our  nature  and  the  sensible  images 
derived  from  the  material  universe  are  commingled  at  the  will  of  the 
possessor."  Hudson  Maxim,  in  his  "Science  of  Poetry,"  says  that  this  art 
"is  the  expression  of  unsensuous  thought  in  sensuous  terms  by  artistic 
trope. "  Professor  Raymond  defines  poetry  merely  by  terming  it  an  art,  the 
medium  of  which  is  language.  But,  in  his  "Essentials  of  ^Esthetics,"  he  lets 
us  know — to  shorten  somewhat  that  which  he  states  under  three  heads — that 
"all  fine  art  involves  a  use  of  the  sights  or  sounds  of  nature  for  the  purpose  of 
expressing  a  man's  thoughts  or  emotions  in  an  external  product."  The 
general  conception  underlying  all  these  statements  is  the  same;  and  few  would 
dispute  its  essential  accuracy.  Neither  will  the  careful  reader  of  this  book 
question  that  Professor  Raymond  has  conformed  to  this  conception  in  every 
particular,  thereby  producing  genuine  works  of  art,  deserving,  as  few  recent 
poems  deserve,  a  place  among  the  classic  compositions  of  their  kind. 

MARION  MILLS  MILLER. 
The  Authors  Club,  New  York  City. 


The  Mountains  About  Williamstown 

GREYLOCK 

CRIEND  of  my  youth,  my  first  of  mountain  friends, 

Friend  long  before  I  saw  thee,  in  the  days 
When,  dwelling  in  a  realm  of  endless  plains, 
Those  whom  thy  shade  had  haunted  pointed  out 
The  clouds,  and  bade  me  find  thine  image  there,— 
With  what  delight  my  heart  first  welcomed  thee! 
And  then,  like  one  whose  form  lies  prone  in  sleep, 
My  young  imagination  woke  and  rose 
And  strove  to  climb,  and — heaven  alone  can  tell 
How  wisely — -has  been  climbing  ever  since. 
With  what  delight,  day  after  day,  for  years, 

3  31 


32  The  Mountains  About   Williamstown 

My  eyes  would  watch  thcc  looming  through  the  light 
Of  early  morn,  and  how  they  since  have  longed 
For  thee  when  absent !     Nor,  at  any  time- 
Not  after  years  had  parted  us — did  not 
The  sight  of  thee  outdo  all  expectation. 

The  works  of  human  art  may  lose  their  charm. 

The  picture,  statue,  building,  wear  no  mail 

That  can  resist  the  subtle  shafts  of  time. 

Their  brightest  color  fades,  their  bronze  corrodes, 

Their  carving  crumbles,  and  their  marble  falls. 

Oft,  too,  when  one  has  wandered  far  from  home, 

And  craves  the  things  he  once  thought  wrought  so  well, 

The  soul's  enlargement  of  the  treasures  missed 

That  each  may  fit  a  niche  of  larger  longing 

Will  make  all  seem,  when  seen  again,  but  small, 

And,  tested  by  the  touch  of  present  fact, 

But  fabrics  of  a  dream  conjured  by  fancy. 

Not  so  with  works  of  Nature.     Years  that  pass 


GREYLOCK,    FROM    H  EARTWELLVI LLE,    VERMONT,    AT   THE    NORTHEAST 

"  Those  whom  thy  shade  had  haunted,  pointed  out 
The  douds,  and  bade  me  find  thine  image  there." — Page  31 


33 


34  THe   Mountains  About  "Williamstown 

May  make  the  field  more  brilliant  with  more  flowers, 
The  ore  more  precious,  and  the  cave  more  vast, 
And  every  mount,  at  our  renewed  return, 
Soar  higher  like  thick  smoke  above  a  flame 
Fanned  into  ardor  by  the  panting  breath 
Of  fleet -sped  winds  that  rush  to  its  embrace. 

And  so  with  thee,  O  Greylock!     Thou  art  yet 
More  grand,  more  beautiful,  than  when,  of  yore, 
I  sought  thee,  in  that  earliest  rash  attempt 
To  climb  thy  heights  by  scaling  first  the  steeps 
Of  Prospect,  pulled  through  thorny  underbrush 
From  limb  to  limb,  like  some  primeval  man 
When  mounting  rounds  of  some  Ygdrasil  tree ; 
Or  when  I  tried  that  long,  but  shorter,  course 
That  first  essays  Bald  Mountain;  or,  again, 
Sought  first  the  Notch.     To-day,  as  always,  comes 
That  sense  of  restful  triumph  when  one  nears 
Those  overshadowing  forests  which  emboss 


THE   NOTCH    BETWEEN   WILLIAMS  AND   PROSPECT  ON   GREYLOCK   MOUNTAIN    RANGE 

"  Nor  at  any  time — 
Not  after  years  had  parted  us — did  not 
The  sight  of  thee  outdo  all  expectation." — Page  32 


35 


36  THe  Mountains  A.bovit  Williamstown 

That  glorious  bowl,  the  Hopper! — when  one  treads 

Those  winding  paths  amid  thick  arching  trees 

Where,  in  the  lack  of  outlook,  naught  can  solve 

The  mystery  of  the  height  save  lungs  that  breathe 

The  thrill  and  uplift  of  a  purer  air; 

And  where,  like  spirits  that  have  been  inspired 

But  never  can  be  conscious  how  or  when, 

Keen  thoughts  will  still  outpace  achievement,  till, 

All  suddenly,  upon  the  eye  will  burst 

The  unobstructed  vision  from  thy  peak,— 

The  hills  that  sweep  from  Adams  at  thy  base 

To  far  Monadnock  and  the  emulous  mounts 

That  rise,  as  if  from  crowds  that  would  be  counted, 

Above  the  hardly  hid  Connecticut. 

Oh,  some  may  praise  the  plain!     It  has  its  use 
For  plow  and  reaper,  railway  and  canal; 
But  all  that  human  hand  could  ever  plant 
Or  thought  invent,  or  energy  transport 


EASTERLY   VIEW   ACROSS   A   SHOULDER    OF   GREYLOCK 

"  The  unobstructed  vision  from  thy  peak, — 
The  hills  that  sweep  from  Adams  at  thy  base." — Page  36 


37 


The  Mountains  About  Williamstown 

Could  never,  through  long  ages,  bring  together 
What  here  were  gathered  in  a  few  short  hours,— 
A  wealth  of  mound  and  meadow  to  suffice 
For  many  a  county,  all  rolled  up  in  one, 
A  hundred  miles  of  surface  in  a  score, 
A  score  of  climates  in  a  single  mile, 
And  all  the  treasury  of  plant  or  soil 
From  half  a  continent  arrayed  against 
The  slopes  that  flank  a  solitary  valley. 
Who  says  there  are  no  wiser  views  of  life 
Where  every  view  displays  a  wider  range? 
More  blest  a  decade  spent  in  scenes  like  this 
Than  ages  in  some  never-ending  plain. 

And  what  of  those  here  who  can  never  climb 

These  heights,  or  gaze  upon  their  heaven-like  vision  ?- 

Did  ever  yet  a  form  appear  on  earth 

Divine  in  mission  that  would  fail  to  bless 

Those,  too,  who  could  but  touch  its  garment's  hem? 


WESTERN    ENTRANCE   TO   GREYLOCK'S    HOPPER 

"  .  1  .v  on  thy  sides 
The  thumb-marks  of  the  Hopper  show  themselves." — Page  40 


39 


4°  The  Mountains  About  Williamst 


own 


As  long  as  thinking  can  be  shaped  by  things, 
And  that  which  holds  our  life  can  mold  our  love, 
What  soul  can  seek  the  skies  with  wistful  gaze 
And  be  content  with  only  soil  below? 
Oh,  does  it  profit  naught  that  one  should  dwell 
Amid  surroundings  that  no  eyes  can  see 
Save  as  they  look  above,  no  feet  can  leave, 
To  seek  the  outer  world,  save  as  they  climb? 
Where  every  prospect  homes  itself  on  high, 
And  each  horizon  seems  a  haunt  of  heaven? 
One  might  believe,  O  Mount,  as  on  thy  sides 
The  thumb-marks  of  the  Hopper  show  themselves, 
That  thou  wast  made  a  handle,  humpt  and  huge, 
Which  some  magician  of  the  sky  could  wield 
While  in  the  hollow  basin  at  thy  base 
All  things  were  lifted  to  a  loftier  life! 

How  blest  the  child  whose  thought  begins  to  build 
Ideals  of  deeds  on  dreams  that,  morn  by  morn, 


PROSPECT,    GREYLOCK   AND    BALD    MOUNTAINS,    WITH    THE    HOPPER 

"  Where,  like  mighty  sides 
Of  some  far  grander  cradle,  lift  these  hills." — Page  42 


42  TKe  Mountains  A.bo\it   Williamstown 

Awake  to  greet  a  mother's  flushing  face 

That  bends  above  his  cradle!     Many  a  soul 

Reared  in  these  valleys  where,  like  mighty  sides 

Of  some  far  grander  cradle,  lift  these  hills, 

And  where  in  bleakest  wintry  skies  appears 

Thy  mountain's  white  brow  warmed  with  flush  of  dawn, 

Has  waked  to  sec  thee,  day  by  day,  until 

The  habit  grew  a  part  of  life  itself 

And  ruled  his  being, — that  whatever  light 

Left  heaven  or  lit  the  earth  would  find  his  form 

In  paths  where  it  was  always  moving  upward. 


BERLIN  MOUNTAIN 

THIS  world  is  wider  than  the  range  of  work, 
Nor  shows  its  worth  through  merely  garnered  gains. 
Yon  barren  mount  where  only  scrub-oaks  grow 
May  yield,  at  times,  a  harvest  for  the  soul 
More  blest  than  ever  filled  the  best  of  farms. 
Think  not  that  every  leaf  that  sprouts  in  spring 
Must  be  a  stem  straight-pointed  toward  a  flower; 
That  every  bud  must  bring  a  blossom-nest 
In  which  to  hatch  and  home  a  future  fruit. 
Full  many  a  leaf  can  only  catch  the  shower 
And  quench  the  dry  limb's  thirst;  full  many  a  bud 
Grow  bright  alone  as  might  a  short-lived  spark 
Aglow  to  show  some  source  of  kindled  fragrance— 

43 


44  The  Mountains  A.bout  Williamstown 

Aglow  to  show  itself  a  part  and  partner 

Of  that  excess  of  service  in  which  all 

The  starry  worlds  are  joined,  as,  hung  beneath 

Heaven's  dome,  like  golden  censers  brimmed  with  fumes 

Of  smouldering  myrrh,  their  God-enkindled  fires 

Now  flash,  now  fail,  while  souls,  awe-thrilled  to  thought, 

Both  trust  and  fear  their  fires'  unfailing  Source. 

In  every  sphere,  beyond  what  merely  meets 
The  first  demand  of  need,  there  issues  forth 
A  constant  overflow.     'T  is  this  that  brings 
More  sunlight  than  the  eye  of  toil  exhausts, 
More  summer  rain  than  clears  and  cools  the  air 
Where  smoke  and  flame  the  world's  too  heated  axles. 
'T  is  this  regales  the  hunger  of  fatigue 
By  foretastes  of  refreshment  never  failing, 
And  shows,  beyond  the  prisons  of  this  earth, 
Through  opening  gates,  the  free  expanse  of  heaven. 
Without  this  overflow,  no  wish  could  play, 


BERLIN    MOUNTAIN,    WITH   WEST    MOUNTAIN    RANGE   TO   THE    RIGHT 

"  Yon  barren  mount  where  only  scrub-oaks  grow 
May  yield,  at  limes,  a  harvest  for  the  soul." — Page  43 


45 


THe   Mountains  Aboxit  Williamstown 

No  thought  could  dream,  no  fancy  slip  the  links 
Of  logic,  and  wing  off  with  childlike  faith 
And  poise  o'er  mysteries  too  deep  for  sight. 
Without  it,  not  one  poet  would  repeat 
His  empty  echoes  of  life's  humdrum  work, 
His  rhythmic  laughter  of  disburdened  thought. 
Without  it,  not  one  artist  would  essay 
To  mimic  Nature  when  it  molds  to  gems 
Its  melting  worthlessness,  or,  like  a  wizard, 
Waves  with  its  wand  to  welcome  bubbling  froth 
And  turn  to  amber  that  which  aimed  for  air. 
Without  it,  ah,  without  it,  there  would  be 
No  life  of  life  more  grand  by  far  than  all 
That  worlds  can  outline  or  that  minds  conceive,- 
No  wings  to  lift  aloft  our  thrilling  souls 
And  bear  them  on,  unconscious  how  or  why, 
Far  past  all  limits  of  all  earth-moved  thought 
Until,  at  last,  they  seem  to  reach  the  verge 
Of  heaven's  infinity. 


HOOSAC    AND    GREYLOCK    RANGES    FROM    BEE    HILL 

"  Beyond  the  prisons  of  this  earth. 
Through  opening  gates,  the  free  expanse  of  heaven." — Page  44 


47 


48  The   Mountains  About  Williamstown 

Meantime,  confined 

Where  only  finite  form  can  hint  of  what 
Inspires  formation,  many  souls  there  arc— 
Oh,  may  I  join  them! — who,  in  all  things  earthly, 
Behold  what  evermore  transfigures  earth. 
No  scene  can  greet  them  but  it  brings  to  sight 
Far  less  than  to  suggestion ;  not  a  tone 
Whose  harmony  springs  not  from  overtones; 
And  not  a  partial  stir  but,  like  a  pulse, 
It  registers  what  heart-beat  moves  the  whole. 

So  let  this  valley  grow  its  flower  and  fruit. 
So  let  the  minds  that  fill  the  valley  fare 
On  food  they  find  in  book  and  business. 
Give  me  the  flowcrless  leaf,  the  fruitless  branch, 
The  mountain  pushing  up  to  barrenness, 
The  scrub-oak  and  the  rock — and,  oh,  the  view! 
Away  with  work,  and  let  me,  free  from  care, 
Mount  on  and  up ! — No  weak  distractions  now ; 


ENTRANCE   TO    FLORA'S    GLEN 

'  No  wait  al  Flora's  Glen;  no  word  to  hint 
Her  modest  welcome  and  her  wanton  wiles!" — Page  50 


49 


5°  TKe  Mountains  About  "Williamstown 

No  wait  at  Flora's  Glen;  no  word  to  hint 
Her  modest  welcome  and  her  wanton  wiles ! 
They  seldom  lured  me  in  the  past,  and  here— 
Why,  here,  at  present,  look !— there  lifts  Bee  Hill ! 
Come,  serve  with  me,  my  day-long  mountaineer, 
Our  short  apprenticeship,  and  compass  this 
Before  the  longer  climb  that  waits  beyond  ;— 
Ay,  like  an  archer  when  he  tries  his  bow, 
Essay  this  littler  bend;  and,  by-and-by, 
Our  limbs  will  limber  for  the  larger  aim. 

Now  tramp  we  up  the  last  vale's  long  ascent ; 

Now,  on  the  narrow  ridge,  see  half  of  earth, 

And  more  than  half  of  heaven,  each  side  of  us ; 

And  here,  upon  the  peak,  at  last,  we  pierce 

The  core  where  all  sublimeness  finds  a  center. 

Not  all,  you  say? — Then  tell  me  where  on  earth 

A  lesser  summit  taps  a  larger  view  ;— 

See,  south,  the  Berkshires,  west  of  them,  the  Catskills, 

Then,  northward,  up  the  far,  wide  Hudson  valley, 


ROADWAY  THROUGH  TORREY'S  WOODS 

"  The  aisle 
That  cleaves  its  glorious  arch  through   Torrey's  ivoods." — Page  54 


52  THe  Mountains  About  "Williamstown 

The  Adirondacks  and  the  great  Green  range, 
With,  here  and  there,  a  knoll  that  gives  a  hint 
Of  highlands  past  the  north  Connecticut, 
But,  best  of  all,  close  by,  the  Housatonics, 
And,  walled  against  the  east,  this  Greylock  group 
Heaped  near  like  models  to  reveal  in  full 
What  wealth  were  in  them  all,  if  clearly  seen. 
One  day  like  this  that  lifts  a  life  on  high 
Where  spirit  seems  to  breathe  its  native  air 
Is  better  than  to  dream  a  score  of  nights 
Where  sleep  is  tinkering  in  its  dark  garage 
The  tire  that  gains  mere  physical  repair. 

And  why  should  one  descend?     Why  cannot  now 
This  whirling  world  whisk  off  the  willing  spirit 
And  let  it  shoot  through  space,  and  go  and  go, 
And  never  come  again?     Ah,  why  should  fate 
Leave  thought  entangled  like  an  eagle  here 
Whose  wings  are  bound,  and  feet  can  only  crawl 


GYMNASIUM,    MORGAN    HALL,    AND    LABORATORIES,   WITH    BERLIN    ABOVE 

"  A  higher  sight 

Than  those  on  which  contracted  brows  are  bent 
In  library  or  laboratory." — Page  56 


53 


54  The   Mountains   About   AYilliamstown 

So  slowly,  and,  when  one  so  longs  to  fly, 

So  painfully? — And  yet  there  sounds  a  bell 

From  out  the  valley.     Why  this  call  to  work? 

Why  this  reluctant  journey  down  the  hill?— 

One  scarcely  dare  look  backward  till,  at  last, 

The  autumn's  gold  and  crimson  in  the  aisle 

That  cleaves  its  glorious  arch  through  Torrey's  woods 

Converts  rebellious  raving  to  remorse 

That,  even  for  an  hour,  one  could  forget 

What  beauty  waits  in  low  as  well  as  high— 

In  all  this  realm,  which  nature,  like  a  mother 

That  loves  her  child,  has  fashioned  for  his  home. 

Now  back  and  down  again  to  book  and  duty ! 
But  who  are  these  we  meet? — Our  comrades? — Oh, 
Were  they  of  us? — Alas,  ye  narrow  souls, 
Awake,  and  fly,  like  slaves  that  would  be  free! 
Like  those  not  made  for  soil  but  for  the  sky ! 
Bound  down  to  petty  tasks,  more  useless  ye 


DODD'S    CONE,    WITH    BERLIN    JUST    BEYOND   THE    LEFT 

"  ,\<>  spirit  uses  uings  in  heaven  that  never 
lias  learned  of  them,  or  longed  for  them,  on  earth." — Page  57 


55 


56  THe  Mountains  About  Williamstown 

Than  ships  loosed  never  from  their  anchorage, 

Nor  sailed  to  ports  for  which  they  have  been  freighted. 

Oh,  think  ye  ends  that  souls  were  made  to  gain 

Were  ever  reached  by  one  who  never  breathed 

A  higher  air,  or  saw  a  higher  sight 

Than  those  on  which  contracted  brows  are  bent 

In  library  or  laboratory? — what? — 

Does  thought  grow  broader,  whittled  down  to  point 

At  microscopic  nuclei  of  dust, 

As  if  the  world  were  by,  not  with  them,  built?— 

As  if  the  game  of  true  success  were  played 

By  matching  parts  whose  wholes  are  curios? 

Nay,  nay!     Life's  greatest  gain  is  life  itself; 

And  life,  though  lived  in  matter,  is  not  of  it; 

Not  of  the  object  that  our  aims  pursue, 

Not  of  the  body  that  pursues  it,  not 

Of  all  the  world  of  which  itself  and  we 

Arc  parts.     Nay,  all  things  that  the  eye  can  see 

Arc  but  vague  shadows  of  reality 


Berlin  Mountain. 

Cast  on  a  frail  environment  of  cloud,— 
But  illustrations  of  a  general  trend 
Which  only  has  enduring  entity, 
And  is,  and  was,  and  always  must  be,  spirit. 

There  is  one  only  mission  fit  for  man,— 

To  be  a  spirit  ministering  to  spirit. 

What  fits  for  this? — A  breath  of  higher  sky, 

A  sight  of  higher  scenes,  at  times,  a  strife 

To  mount  by  means  impossible  as  yet. 

What  then? — Believe  me  that  the  spirit-air, 

Like  all  the  air  above  the  soil  we  tread, 

Takes  to  its  own  environment  of  light 

No  growth  to  burst  there  into  flower  and  fruit 

That  docs  not  get  some  start,  and  root  itself, 

Amid  this  lower  world's  deep,  alien  darkness,— 

No  spirit  uses  wings  in  heaven  that  never 

Has  learned  of  them,  or  longed  for  them,  on  earth. 


57 


WEST  MOUNTAIN 

NT O  hands  of  human  art  could  be  the  first 
A  ^      To  draw  thy  contour's  broken  lines  against 
The  ended  glory  of  the  sunset  sky. 
No  thought  of  human  mind  could  ever  plan, 
Nor  power  uphold  them.     Nay,  they  must  have  sprung 
To  shape  like  this  when  some  primeval  frost 
Chilled,  caught,  and  crystallized  the  storm-swept  waves 
Of  chaos  that,  arrested  in  their  rage, 
They  fitly  might  portray  the  power  beneath. 
Stay  there,  great  billows,  all  your  boulder-drops 
Held  harmless  where  they  hang ;  and  all  the  spray 
That  might  have  dashed  above  them  merely  leaves 
Of  bush  and  forest,  held  to  equal  pause 

58 


WEST    MOUNTAIN    RANGE   SEEN    ACROSS    HOOSICK    RIVER 

"  Thy  contour's  broken  lines  against 
The  ended  glory  of  the  sunset  sky." — Page  58 


59 


60  The  Mountains  About 

Save  where,  perchance,  their  fluttering,  now  and  then, 

Reveals  a  feeling  that  they  once  were  free; 

Stay  there,  suspended  in  the  sky!     But,  sure 

As  days  roll  up  the  sun,  an  hour  must  come 

When  blazing  blasts  again  shall  shake  these  peaks, 

Shall  pile  them  higher,  level  them  to  plains, 

Or  melt  them  back  to  primal  nothingness. 

Meantime  their  mission  shall  be  what  it  is : 

To  teach  the  world,  not  rest,  but  restlessness,— 

The  aspiration  and  the  aim  of  art 

That  will  not  bide  contented  till  the  law 

Of  thought  shall  supersede  the  law  of  things, 

And  that  which  in  the  midnight  of  this  world 

Is  but  a  dream  shall  be  fulfilled  in  days 

Where  there  is"  no  more  matter,  only  mind, 

And  beauty,  born  of  free  imagination, 

Shall  wait  but  on  the  sovereignty  of  spirit. 

How  oft  in  youth  I  gazed  upon  these  heights 


THE    HOPPER    FROM    THE   WEST 

'  To  teach  the  world,  no!  rest,  but  restlessness, — 
The  aspirations  and  the  aim  of  art 
That  will  not  bide  contented." — Page  60 


61 


The  Mountains  About   Williamstown 

Uprising  to  refresh  a  faltering  faith 

With  wistful  wonder  and  inspiring  zest ! 

For  this  how  often  have  I  climbed  these  fields 

From  foot-hills  to  the  Snow-hole;  then,  reclined 

Against  the  western  slope,  looked  off  to  give 

A  god-speed  to  the  sun,  and  half-believed 

The  blue-tint  sky-sheet,  held  to  light  against 

The  little  town  of  learning  that  I  loved, 

Could  bear  away  with  photographic  art 

That  which  should  give  enlightenment  to  all 

The  western  land  through  which  it  should  be  trailed. 

How  often,  with  a  single  friend,  at  times,— 

At  times  with  many,— I  have  lingered  there; 

And  then,  as  if  the  very  air  breathed  in 

From  broader,  grander  spaces  could  inspire 

To  thoughts  of  broader  reach  and  grander  import, 

It  seemed  that  there  was  naught  in  earth  or  sky 

Or  shop  or  study — did  we  deign  descend 


THE    DOME,    EAST    MOUNTAIN    AND   WILLIAMSTOWN    FROM    STONE    HILL 

"  The  blue-tint  sky-sheet,  held  to  light  against 
The  little  tmtin  of  learning  that  I  loved." — Page  62 


64  THe   Mountains  Aboxit 

To  this  more  common  world — that  was  not  all 

Discussed  if  not  decided.     Nor  confined 

To  bounds  material  were  we.     While  the  winds 

Would  whistle  through  the  trees  and  round  the  rocks, 

Our  shouts  would  join  them,  now,  perchance  intent 

To  rouse  loud  echoes,  dealt  us  like  applause 

For  ungrown  voices  that  would  fit  themselves 

To  bear  the  burden  of  the  larger  thought 

For  which  the  world  beyond  our  youth  seemed  waiting; 

And  now,  perchance,  though  seldom  recognized, 

Nor  if,  though  subtly  recognized,  confessed, 

Intent  to  gain  fore-echoes,  as  it  were, 

Of  that  which  should  be  college  approbation 

When  words  that  to  the  air  were  now  rehearsed 

Should  load  the  breath  that  carries  freight  to  spirit, 

And,  borne  along  the  clogs  of  others'  pulses, 

Should  start  that  subtle  surging  in  the  veins 

That  proves  the  presence  and  completes  the  work 

Of  what  impels  to  rhythmic  rhetoric. 


A  CLASS-DAY    SPEECH    BETWEEN    EAST   COLLEGE   AND   THE    LIBRARY 

"  Fit  themselves 

To  bear  the  burden  of  the  larger  thought 
For  winch  the  world  beyond  our  youth  seemed  waiting." — Page  64 


66  TKe   Mountains  About  Williamstown 

Then,  warned  by  coming  twilight  we  would  turn, 
And  dare  to  lose  the  path,  and  plunge  adown 
Where,  lured  by  rock  or  rill,  we  snapt  apart 
The  network  of  the  tangled  underbrush, 
As  if  to  seize  wild  prey  enmeshed  therein— 
Oh,  happy  days  of  youth!  when  empty  sport 
Of  mere  imagination — fancied  game- 
Could  fill  the  hunter's  pouch  to  overflowing! 
Ay,  how  much  better  than  the  days  of  age- 
Alas,  I  fear  it,  too,  of  modern  youth 
For  whom,  so  rich  in  matter,  poor  in  mind, 
We  manufacture  implements  of  play 
That  clip  at  fancies  till  they  all  fit  facts, 
Plane  joys  to  toys,  and  level  games  to  gain, 
Till  every  pleasure  palls  that  fails  to  pay 
In  scales  that  rate  life's  worth  by  what  it  weighs 
When  all  the  spirit's  buoyancy  is  lost. 

How  often  with  no  friend  except  myself— 


Mountain  67 

And  he,  at  times,  no  friend — my  feet  have  trod 
These  woods,  the  while  my  soul  has  longed  to  rise 
Successfully  as  field  and  cliff  and  tree 
To  heights  where  one  could  dwell  above  a  world 
Whose  common  life  appeared  but  all  too  common, 
Its  aims  too  low  for  love  to  seek  and  honor, 
And  yet  a  world  in  which  my  own  self,  too, 
My  body,  spirit,  all,  bore  part  and  share. 

At  times,  these  moods  would  pass  like  shadows  trailed 
Across  the  darkened  meadows  from  far  clouds 
That  swiftly  sail  the  sky;  at  times,  they  came 
To  stay  and  root  themselves  like  seeds  that  make 
The  brush  more  thorny  with  each  season's  growth. 
And,  oh,  one  night  there  was — can  I  forget  it? 
Not  while  the  sky  above  and  earth  beneath 
And  all  within  my  consciousness  can  last— 
A  night — and  not  the  sole  one — when,  as  if 
My  trembling  human  body  were  possessed 


The  Mountains  About  Williamstown 

As  by  a  demon  of  insane  desire 

To  make  its  loneliness  a  fitting  frame 

For  the  deep  loneliness  of  moods  within, 

I  strolled,  at  midnight,  through  the  shade-veiled  elms, 

Across  the  western  rise,  and  down  the  hill. 

What  mattered  how  complained  the  creaking  bridge, 

Or  bustling  brook,  disturbed  by  moon  and  me; 

How  marshalled  into  rows  the  ghost-like  forms, 

White-mantled  in  the  hill-side  cemetery?— 

On,  on,  I  pressed  until,  through  haunted  aisles 

Of  phantom-fashioned  trees  and  looming  mounds 

That  rose  like  mighty  tombs  of  giants  dead 

Whose  spirits  yet  seemed  round  me, — on  I  pressed 

Until  I  reached  that  great  right  angle  where 

All  farms  and  all  things  fertile  lie  below, 

And  only  barren  slopes  of  sterile  rock 

And  trees  that  nature  struggles  to  disown 

Await  the  climber  who  would  still  move  on. 

And  then  I  paused,  and  then  I  looked  below, 


MAIN    STREET,    Wl  LLIAM  STOWN  ,    LOOKING   WEST 

"  Through  the  shade-veiled  elms, 
Across  the  western  rise." — Page  68 


69 


70  THe  Mountains  About  "Williamstown 

And  asked  what  could  be  there  for  me,  and  then 

I  looked  above  and  asked  what  could  be  there. 

Mistakes  of  others  and  my  own,  as  well, 

The  land's  financial  stress,  and  that  strange  stress 

Of  human  fellowship  which  sometimes  makes 

A  fellow-worker,  from  his  very  zeal 

To  help  another,  elbow  him  aside, 

Had  seemed  to  force  me  to  a  precipice 

As  real  as  any  that  my  feet  could  find ; 

And  I  must  fight,  or  fall;  and  if  I  fought 

Must  fight  myself  and  fight  my  every  friend. 

Oh,  do  not  think  that  heaven  moves  all  alike! 

Some  minds  are  sighted  for  a  single  aim, 

And  right  for  others  may  be  wrong  for  them: 

Oh,  do  not  think  the  tempter,  when  he  comes, 

Proclaims  his  presence  through  acknowledged  ill! 

His  most  seducing  tones  may  leave  the  lips 

Of  friends,  or  those  who  best  may  pose  as  friends; 

His  direst  pitfall-paths  mount  up,  nor  hint 


FOOTHILLS   OF  WEST    MOUNTAIN    FROM    THE   SIDE   OF    IT 

"That  great  right  angle  where 
All  farms  and  all  things  fertile  lie  below." — Page  68 


72  The  Mountains  Aboxit  Williamstown 

What  crumbling  crags  their  garden  glories  wreathe. 
You  deem  that,  at  the  crisis  of  his  life, 
It  was  a  devil  Jacob  wrestled  with?— 
Nay,  nay;  Hosea's  term  for  him  was  angel. 

What  but  my  own  good  angel  could  recall 

The  plans  of  others  and  the  hopes  of  self 

For  early,  easy,  individual  gain, 

Position,  influence,  all  that  most  men  wish? 

And  what  except  this  angel's  foe  was  it 

That  made  contend  with  these  a  force  conjured 

From  inward  consciousness  of  mind  and  body, 

With  all  the  doubts  that  shadowed  thought  in  one, 

And  nerves  that  stirred  revulsion  in  the  other, 

As  if  to  make  my  spirit  fly  as  far 

From  fellow-spirits  as  those  mountain  heights 

Were  far  from  all  that  should  be  in  one's  home? 

The  darkest  night  brings  dawn.     You  ask  the  end?- 


THE    INNER    HOPPER 

"As  far 

From  felloii'-sfnrits  as  those  mountain  heights 
Were  far  from  all  that  should  be  in  one's  home." — Page  72 


73 


The  Mountains  About  Williamstown 

What  if  the  purpose  that  my  soul  then  formed 
Remain  still  far  too  sacred  to  reveal? 
What  if  I  failed  to  do  as  friends  had  hoped? 
What  if  I  lived  for  years  discredited?— 
God  knows  that  I  have  tried  to  live  my  life; 
Nor  from  the  trophies  of  the  outside  world 
Have  often  sought  or  longed  for  recompense. 

Oh,  there  are  views  of  life  that  so  depend 
On  inward  entity  at  work  beneath 
The  whole  that  has  been,  or  that  can  be,  shown 
In  what  men  merely  see  or  hear  or  clutch, 
That  each  and  all  seem  hollow  as  mere  husks. 
To-day  a  man  is  young;  to-morrow,  old; 
To-day  in  health,  to-morrow  in  disease; 
To-day  enthroned,  to-morrow  in  his  grave; 
And  not  alone  to  man  these  changes  come. 
The  earth,  our  home,  that  so  enduring  seems, 
The  sun  and  stars  that  light  it  from  above 


"West  Mountain 

Belong  but  to  a  camp,  set  up  to-day, 
And,  on  the  morrow,  fell'd  and  flung  aside. 

What  then  remains  for  life? — If  one  have  aimed 

For  outward  profit,  nothing.     If  his  thought 

Have  always,  through  the  outer,  sought  the  inner, 

Then,  not  alone,  the  stars  that  shine  on  high 

May  all  prove  beacons,  guiding  on  and  on 

To  havens  holding  glories  infinite, 

But  each  frail  flower  that  blooms  for  but  an  hour 

May  store  in  memory  an  ideal  of  beauty, 

A  sense  of  sweetness,  that  shall  never  leave  him. 

How  vain  to  let  affections  all  go  forth 
To  things  material,  hard  and  heavy  foes, 
Whose  mission  is  to  fall  at  once  and  crush, 
Or,  through  long  labor,  wear  our  spirits  out ! 
How  much  more  wise,  behind  the  shape,  to  seek 
The  substance,  and,  in  sympathy  with  it, 


75 


76  The  Mountains  About  Williamstown 

Learn  of  the  life  which  never  was  created 
But  all  things  were  created  to  reveal ! 
Ah,  he  who  learns  of  this,  and  comes  to  live 
In  close  communion  with  it,  finds,  at  times, 
When  Nature  whom  he  loves  has  laid  aside 
Her  outer  guise  and  clasps  him  to  her  heart, 
That  there  are  mysteries,  not  vague  but  clear, 
Not  formless  but  concrete,  which,  it  must  be, 
That  those  alone  can  know,  or  have  a  right 
To  know,  who  always,  like  a  faithful  spouse, 
Have  kept  their  spirits  to  the  spirit  true. 

And  when  these  mounts,  like  mighty  sheets  above 
Some  slumbering  giant  soon  to  wake  and  walk, 
Fall  back  to  formlessness  from  which  they  came, 
What  wisdom  shall  be  proved  the  choice  of  him 
Whose  eyes,  in  mercy  shielded  from  the  blaze 
On  which  the  soul  alone  can  look  and  live, 
Did  not  mistake  mere  grossness  in  the  form 


THE   GREYLOCK    RANGE    FROM    BERKSHIRE    ROCK 

"These  mounts,  like  mighty  sheets  above 
Some  slumbering  giant  soon  to  wake  and  walk." — Page  76 


77 


78  The   Mountains  About  Williamstown 

For  the  true  greatness  of  the  inward  force ; 

Whose  mind  too  slightly  taught,  as  yet,  perhaps, 

To  read,  beneath  the  picture,  all  the  text, 

Has  yet  surmised  its  meaning  by  that  faith 

Which,  though  its  guide  be  instinct,  dares  to  think, 

And,  though  it  bow  to  greet  the  symbol,  yet 

Lets  not  its  magic  cast  a  spell  on  sense! 

To  him  the  world  seems  but  a  transient  school ; 

The  universe,  a  university; 

The  blue  that  homes  the  sunlight  and  the  stars, 

A  dome  above  a  vast  museum  built 

With  glens  for  alcoves,  plains  for  galleries, 

And  mounts  for  stairways,  where  he  works  and  waits 

Till  comes  the  day  he  takes  his  last  degree, 

And  then  goes  forth,  and  leaves  all  these  behind, 

Yet,  in  a  true  sense,  holds  them  his  forever. 


COMMENCEMENT    PROCESSION    OF  THE   GRADUATING   CLASS 

"The  day  he  takes  his  last  degree. 
And  then  goes  forth,  and  leaves  all  these  behind." — Page  78 


79 


FORD'S  GLEN 

first  I  followed  up  thy  modest  brook, 
And  left  the  northwest  road,  and  came  on  thee, 
How  grand  thy  wood-crowned  rocks  appeared  to  be 
Whose  high-arched  foliage  heaven's  dim  light  forsook! 
But  when,  years  later,  I  came  back  to  look 
On  what  so  awed,  I  stood  amazed  to  see 
How  small  and  shrunk,  when  shorn  of  every  tree, 
Were  all  that  I  for  lofty  cliffs  mistook. 
Then,  in  my  college-town,  I  joined,  once  more, 
The  mates  I  so  had  honored  in  my  youth. 
Alas,  in  some,  no  mystery  seemed  to  lurk 
Where  heights  of  promise  had  so  loomed  of  yore! 
Has  life  no  sphere  in  which  one  finds,  forsooth, 
No  wrong  to  nature  wrought  by  man's  mean  work? 

o~ 


FORD'S   GLEN 

"How  grand  thy  wood-crowned  rocks  appeared  to  be 
Whose  high -arched  foliage  heaven's  dim  light  forsook  I  "  • — Page  80 


81 


A  WOODLAND  REVERIE 

/\/| V  spirit,  moving  on  to  higher  life, 
*  "  »     At  one  sad  place  became  a  prey  to  strife; 
For  many  oft  would  cross  my  path,  and  say 
Their  souls  were  moving  in  the  better  way; 
And  mere  delusions  had  allured  my  feet 
Along  the  course  my  faith  had  found  so  sweet. 
At  this,  then,  like  a  child,  who  turns  to  leave 
The  wranglings  of  his  mates  that  make  him  grieve, 
And  rest  his  weary  head  upon  that  breast 
Whose  firm  maternal  love  can  bear  it  best, 
My  mind  would  turn  to  nature.     Where  but  there 
Could  earth-born  trouble  find  maternal  care? 
How  long'd  I  to  be  hidden  in  the  shade 
Which  the  thick  mantlings  of  her  forests  made, 

82 


THE    HOPPER    BROOK   AND    PATHWAY 

" How  longed  I  to  be  hidden  in  the  shade 
Winch  the  thick  man/lings  of  her  forests  made." — Page  82 


84  The   Mountains  About  Williamstown 

And  stay  there  undisturb'd  by  human  thought, 
Till  sweet  and  soothing  influences,  brought 
From  sources  far  removed  from  man's  control, 
Should  cool  the  burning  fever  of  my  soul ! 
So,  for  a  season  bidding  men  farewell, 
I  dwelt  alone  within  a  grove-grown  dell. 

Thence  wandering  forth  one  still  clear  night  I  found, 

Beneath  the  moon  that  rose  up,  large  and  round, 

Through  vistas  opening  like  some  temple's  aisles, 

Great  trees  that  arched  the  moveless  air  for  miles. 

Their  spreading  boughs,  like  shadowy  rafters,  lined 

A  star-filled  dome,  and  oft,  where  foliage  twined 

In  leafy  fretwork  round  each  trailing  limb, 

Flash'd  bright  with  dew.     Beneath  them,  fair  though  dim, 

About  the  trees'  wide  trunks,  in  half  seen  bowers, 

And  pushing  up  through  paths  I  trod,  were  flowers. 

I  seem'd  their  nature's  lord ;  for,  when  my  feet 

Would  crush  them  as  I  pass'd,  they  grew  more  sweet. 


A  "Woodland   Reverie  85 

Anon  a  brook  before  my  vision  spread. 

It  seem'd  a  path  that  fairy  feet  could  tread — 

A  path  of  silver,  o'er  a  jewell'd  ground 

Which  far  away  toward  heaven-like  mountains  wound. 

White  mists  were  clinging  to  the  brook's  bright  side. 

Like  spirit  bands  I  thought  them,  whom  its  tide 

Lull'd  softly,  couch'd  amid  the  dark-leaved  trees, 

Awaiting  bugles  of  the  morning  breeze, 

And  all  the  rush  of  daybreak  sweeping  by, 

To  bear  them  off  in  glory  to  the  sky. 

At  times,  mysterious  whurs  of  winds  and  wings 
And  whisperings  rose,  with  long-drawn  echoings. 
'T  was  music,  lingering  lovingly  along 
The  breeze  its  fragrance  freighted,  like  a  song 
From  bay-bound  barks  in  hazy  autumn  calms ; 
Nor  less  it  sway'd  my  soul  than  slow  low  psalms, 
Begun  where  organ  blasts,  that  roar'd  and  rush'd 
And  made  the  air- waves  roll,  are  swiftly  hush'd, 


86  THe   Mountains   About   A^illiarnstown 

And  our  thrill 'd  breasts  inhale  as  well  as  hear 
The  awe-fill 'd  sweetness  of  the  atmosphere. 

How  calmly  did  such  sights  and  sounds  impart 

Their  own  deep  calmness  to  my  troubled  heart! 

With  gratitude  for  each  toy-touch  of  air 

At  play  on  my  knit  brow,  I  rested  there. 

But  while  I  rested,  lo,  a  stranger's  form 

Push'd  through  the  white  bars  of  the  moonlight  warm; 

And  with  a  soft  slow  movement  near  me  came, 

The  while  his  face,  tho'  mute,  smiled  forth  to  claim 

Full  sympathy  with  me  ere  either  spoke ; 

But  soon  his  voice  upon  the  silence  broke: 

"Who  loves  not  (where  all  shapes  and  sounds  we  test 
So  charm  us  by  the  mysteries  they  suggest) 
To  throw  aside — or  strive  to  throw,  at  least- 
Beliefs  that  satisfy  our  times,  and  feast 
On  superstition,  and  half  credit  freaks 


A   BROOK  WITH   THE   DOME   IN   THE   DISTANCE 

"A  path  of  silver  o'er  a  jewelled  ground 
Which  far  away  toward  heaven-like  mountains  wound." — Page  85 


The  Mountains  About  Williamstown 

With  which  fair  fancy  lured  those  dreamy  Greeks. 
Our  older  age  has  dropt  the  young  world's  joys, 
And  takes  life  earnestly ;  but  it  employs 
Its  ardor  too  much  like  an  o'ergrown  boy's, 
Whose  fist  and  arm,  so  often  plied  in  strife, 
But  show  his  brain  is  weak.     There  arc  in  life 
Deep  truths  we  value  not.     We  rend  apart 
The  forms  of  nature,  but  have  little  heart 
To  prize  the  hints  to  thought  that  meet  our  view. 
And  we  forget  that  mysteries  too  are  true ; 
And  we  forget  the  bourn  beyond  the  blue; 
And  we  forget  about  the  silent  pall  ; 
And  faith,  which  only  holds  the  key  of  all." 

He  turn'd  away;  and  I,  who,  well  pleased,  heard, 
Could  not  but  follow  him.     Without  a  word 
We  walk'd  at  first,  like  pilgrims  near  a  shrine 
They  much  revere,  who,  fill'd  with  thrills  too  fine 
To  throb  through  words  accented,  satisfy 


MISSION    PARK    MONUMENT 

'And  U'e  forget  about  the  silent  pall, 
And  faith  which  only  holds  the  key  of  all." — Page  88 


89 


<)0  The  Mountains  About  Williamst 


own 


Their  souls  by  feeling  that  the  god  is  nigh. 
"Alas,  how  many  a  thought, "  he  said  at  last, 
"Whose  accents  reach  us  through  the  rustling  blast, 
Whose  meaning  seems  inscribed  in  circling  rills, 
And  outlines  of  the  rocks,  the  trees,  the  hills, 
Is  void  of  purport  to  the  soul  whose  eyes 
Have  never  yet  been  taught  to  know  and  prize 
The  purpose  underneath !     Forms  can  impart 
Their  import  only  to  a  feeling  heart. 

"All  things  created  can  for  thought  procure 
No  more  than  one's  creative  thoughts  conjure 
From  out  their  forms.     A  likeness  in  them  speaks 
To  like  in  us,  the  while  our  spirit  seeks 
Close  contact  with  their  own.     For  nature  is 
Transparent,  and  reveals  her  mysteries 
To  mortals  only  whose  own  sympathies 
Make  them  transparent,  opening  all  between 
Themselves  and  nature,  so  that  naught  can  screen 


A  "Woodland   Reverie  91 

Her  inmost  meaning  from  their  inmost  mind. 
Such  spirits  in  earth's  round  horizon  find 
A  glass  divine — like  that  called  Claude  Lorraine's— 
A  strange,  strong  lens  that  deep  within  contains 
Heaven's  forms  for  thought,  made  small  in  scope  to  match 
Man's  comprehension.     But  how  few  can  catch 
Heaven's  meaning  through  the  forms.     How  few  so  wise 
That  they  can  look  beneath  the  rustling  guise 
Of  nature's  vestments,  and  perceive  below 
The  mind  informing  them,  that  makes  them  glow 
With  living  truth.     Alas,  how  many  souls— 
As  blind  to  all  that  might  be  seen  as  moles- 
Live,  merely  burrowing  in  earth's  dust  and  gloom 
To  make  their  whole  surroundings  but  a  tomb 
Wherein  dead  minds  may  lie.     And  yet  how  grand 
Might  life  become,  could  all  but  understand 
The  thoughts  that  flow  with  brooks  in  every  glade, 
And  grow  to  strengthen  souls  with  every  blade 
Of  verdure  in  the  spring-time!     Could  they  read 


t)2  XKe   Mountains  About   Williamstown 

And  know  and  use  earth  rightly,  then,  indeed, 
Might  heaven,  too,  open  above  them,  while  they  too 
Would  cry  like  Paul,  'What  wilt  Thou  have  me  do?' 

"We  mortal  men  may  all  be  priests,  high  priests 

Of  nature,  who  may  gather  in  from  beasts 

And  birds  and  creeping  things,  and  sky,  and  earth, 

That  which  each  form  reveals  of  truth  or  worth, 

And,  in  our  higher  natures,  find  a  speech 

To  voice  the  praise  that  thought  can  frame  for  each. 

Can  aught  on  earth  give  right  supremacy, 

Except  this  priesthood  of  humanity? 

Where  burn  the  altar-fires  that  can  make  pure 

Earth's  wrong  and  dross,  and  through  their  flames  insure 

True  worship  for  all  forms  of  life  or  art, 

If  not  enkindled  in  the  human  heart? 

"Relieve  me,  in  humanity  it  is — 
In  charities,  and  kindly  courtesies, 


A.  AAfoodland  Reverie  93 

In  eyes  that  sparkle,  and  in  cheeks  that  blush 
With  love  and  hope  and  faith,  which  make  them  flush- 
That  all  the  bloom  and  fruitage  of  the  earth 
Attain  their  consummation  and  their  worth. 
Deep  underneath  our  nature  is  a  power 
That,  pushing  forth  through  soil  and  seed  and  flower, 
Moves  on  and  out  through  all  of  sentient  life, 
And  struggles  most  in  man;  nor  can  the  strife 
Be  ended  ever,  till  the  force  controls 
The  last  least  impulse  that  impels  our  souls. 


'T  is  time  the  Spirit  of  the  living  force, 
Whose  currents  through  the  frame  of  nature  course, 
And  make  the  earth  about,  and  stars  above, 
The  body  and  abode  of  infinite  Love, 
That  breathes  its  own  breath  through  our  waiting  frames 
With  each  fresh  breeze  that  blows,  and  ever  aims 


94  The   Mountains  About  Williamstown 

Our  lesser  lives  where  all  we  call  advance 
But  plays  within  its  lap  of  circumstance,— 
'T  is  time  the  Spirit  should  be  known,  in  truth, 
Inspiring  hope  in  age  and  faith  in  youth, 
And  bringing  each  that  charity  benign, 
Which  in  us  all  would  make  us  all  divine." 

He  paused,  then  said:  "Each  reverential  star 
Draws  back  where  comes  the  sun.     My  home  is  far. 
Now  that  our  feet  approach  once  more  the  dell 
Where  first  we  met,  I  must  away;  farewell. " 
And  scarce  I  heard  this,  ere  he  had  withdrawn. 
But  I,  who  walk'd  and  watch 'd  the  opening  dawn, 
Moved  homeward  like  one  waking  from  a  dream  ; 
And,  as  my  mind  recall'd  my  joy  supreme 
To  see  bright  visions  that  had  fill'd  the  sky, 
I  had  resolved,  long  ere  the  sun  was  high, 
That  whatsoever  truth  had  thus  been  shown 
Should  not  be  left  to  bless  myself  alone. 


A  WALK    IN    A   WILLIAMSTOWN    PARK 

'  Bid  I  U'ho  walked  and  watched  the  opening  dawn 
Moved  homeward  like  one  waking  from  a  dream." — Page  94 


95 


AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS 

MY  mountains,  how  I  love  your  forms  that  stand 
So  beautiful,  so  bleak,  so  grim,  so  grand. 
Your  gleaming  crags  above  my  boyhood's  play, 
Undimmed  as  hope,  rose  o'er  each  rising  day. 
When  now  light  hope  has  yielded  place  to  care, 
O'er  steadfast  work  I  see  you  steadfast  there, 
And  when  old  age,  at  last,  shall  yearn  for  rest, 
By  your  white  peaks  will  each  aspiring  glance  be  blest. 

How  bright  and  broad,  with  ever  fresh  surprise, 
The  scenes  ye  brought  allured  my  youthful  eyes. 
Now,  when  rude  hands  those  views  of  old  assail, 

When  growing  towns  have  changed  the  lower  vale, 

96 


THE   GREYLOCK    RANGE    FROM    BELLOW'S    PIPE 

"How  I  love  your  forms  that  stand 
So  beautiful,  so  bleak,  so  grim,  so  grand."  —  Page  96 


97 


98  THe  Mountains  About  M^illiamstown 

When  other  friends  are  lost  or  sadly  strange, 
Ye  stand  familiar  still,  ye  do  not  change. 
And  when  all  else  abides  as  now  no  more, 
In  you  I  still  may  see  the  forms  I  loved  of  yore. 


Ye  mounts  deserve  long  life.     Your  peaks  at  dawn 
Catch  light  no  sooner  from  the  night  withdrawn, 
Than  those  ye  rear  see  truth,  when  brave  men  vow 
To  serve  the  serf,  and  bid  the  despot  bow. 
In  vales  below,  if  tyrants  make  men  mild, 
The  weak  who  scale  your  sides  learn  winds  are  wild, 
That  beasts  break  loose,  and  birds  awaken'd  flee, 
As  if  in  deepest  sleep  they  dream'd  of  being  free. 

High  homes  of  manhood,  human  lips  can  phrase 
No  tribute  fit  to  echo  half  your  praise. 
By  Piedmont's  church  and  Ziska's  rock-wall'd  see, 
By  Swiss  and  Scot  who  left  their  children  free, 


GREYLOCK    FROM    A   SHOULDER    OF   THE    DOME 

"When  other  friends  are  lost  or  sadly  strange, 
Ye  stand  faimhar  still,  ye  do  iwl  change."  —Page  98 


99 


IOO  THe  Mountains  About  Williamstown 

By  our  New  England,  when  she  named  him  knave 
Who,  flank'd  by  bloodhounds,  chased  his  fleeing  slave, 
Stand  ye  like  them,  whose  memories,  ever  grand, 
Tower  far  above  earth's  lords,  as  ye  above  its  land. 

Ay,  stand  like  monuments  in  lasting  stone 

To  souls  as  lofty  as  the  world  has  known. 

Ye  fitly  symbol,  when  with  kindling  light 

The  dawn  and  sunset  gild  your  summits  white, 

The  glories  of  their  pure,  aspiring  worth 

Who  aim'd  at  stars  to  feed  the  hopes  of  earth; 

And  fitly  point  where  they,  in  brighter  skies, 

View  grander  scenes  than  yours  where  your  heights  cannot  rise. 


V 


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